


Mediocrity in Death

by pocketsfullofstones



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bearded Anderson, Because i like him that way dammit, Characters designed to die, F/F, Female Jim Moriarty, Females all around, Femlock, Heterochromia, Mentions of Rape, Moriarty is freaking creepy, Mystery, Relationships are Subject to Change, Sally Donovan is a bitch but she's doing her job, Serial Killers, Unrequited Love, murders, non-canon, possible sex in later chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-06
Packaged: 2018-01-03 03:26:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1065202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocketsfullofstones/pseuds/pocketsfullofstones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Why?" she demanded. "Why did they have to die?"</p><p>"Because we're all boring in the end. The pretty ones get remembered, but they're the most mediocre of all."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Victim

Two silhouettes made their way through the morning fog. The air was still and silent, the only exception being the sirens in the near distance. Sherlock popped up her coat collar, and put up her hair in a bun as she walked. “Don’t say a word until we see the body”, she said to her shorter friend, Joan. "We got a call. I assume you’re not wasting my time, Detective Lestrade?”

The salt-and-pepper haired man turned from his colleagues to look at the couple that had just approached his crime scene. “Sherlock Holmes and Joan Watson, I take it?”

“Yes. Give me details”, Sherlock said, crouching under the police warning tape. She continued to hold it for her companion.

“We got a call around five o’ clock this morning. A jogger found her like this...” he led them to a body, horribly mangled in a parking spot.

“Joan, start writing the basics: hair colour, basic appearance.”

“Alright.” Joan took out her notebook, and started writing: _The victim is a female in her mid-thirties at first guess.  She has an olive complexion, curly black hair in a mid-length braid, and dark brown eyes.  She is short, fairly muscular, and is dressed in shorts and a button-up shirt. Found around 5:00 a.m. in a parking lot._

Sherlock bent down close to the victim. The victim was curled in a ball, her eyes wide open. A gloved hand moved her braid of hair from her neck. “Bruises from strangulation...several knife wounds...defensive bruises on the wrists.” She reached in the woman’s pocket, and found a wallet. “What, did you call me first thing, Lestrade?” she asked under her breath. “The victim is Corrina Tennyson, 36 years old...” she trailed off, and looked at the I.D. more closely. “And has Heterochromia.”

“What?” Joan asked. “But both her eyes are brown.”

“Not in her I.D. picture.” Sherlock balanced herself over the victim, and lightly touched her right eye. A coloured contact came off with little difficulty. “Someone give me a bag.” When someone handed her and evidence bag, she lightly shook her finger inside the bag, making the brown contact fall into the bag. She sealed it, and handed it to Detective Inspector Lestrade. “When you’re done with that, I want it back.”

“Anything else?”

“She’s sleeping with numerous partners...it’s possible one of them got jealous, but I wouldn’t hold much faith into that. The wallet’s stacked with cash, so it’s not a mugging gone wrong...” Sherlock held her hands together under her chin. “Something’s wrong here. It’s too easy. I can’t put my finger on it, though, not while her clothes are still on. Call my when the body gets to the coroner; I need to see the bloodwork and do some tests of my own.” She got up from her squatting position, and started to walk away from the scene.

“Miss Holmes!” D.I. Lestrade called after her, “How could you possibly know if she had multiple partners?”

“Look at the contusions on her mouth and thighs. Those were caused by at least three different people.” Sherlock continued on her way out of the parking lot. “Watson!” she shouted. “Hurry up.”

Joan bowed slightly at the crowd of policemen and swiftly started running after Sherlock. “Why are we leaving so soon?”

“Because I need to get the rest of the facts out of my mouth, and if I did it in front of the Detective Inspector, I’d be in cuffs by now.” She burrowed her hands in her coat pockets.

“Oh. What’s on your mind?”

“This may appear to be a random murder, but I just know something else is going on. That woman was _very_ sexually active—the love bites on her neck couldn’t be more than three hours apart. However, they’re four days old. So why would a woman “on the prowl” suddenly stop having sex?”

“Period?” Joan suggested.

“No, her rings are still on her fingers.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

Sherlock rolled her eyes. “You know when you start to bloat on the first few days of your menstrual cycle, and everything fits a bit tighter? Extra fluid doesn’t just go to your love handles or your thighs, it goes everywhere. Those rings would be hard to take from her hand now, and she’s dead. If she had started her menstrual cycle, they would be on her dresser. So taking that into account, where has she been that she couldn’t be sexually active? She was kidnapped.”

“You think she was kidnapped? That’s kind of a far leap, isn’t it?”

“You should learn to stop questioning me. And for god’s sake, call your sister before your guilt starts impairing your ability to work with me.”

“How did you—never mind”, Joan groaned. “You know, it’s no wonder people hate you. You uproot secrets everywhere you go. I wouldn’t be surprised if you knew my mother’s middle name.”

“Juliet.”

“Damn it.”

 

**_221B Baker Street_ **

Case notes:

Title: N/A

Victim: _The victim is a female aged thirty-six years old, named Corrina Tennyson.  She has an olive complexion, curly black hair in a mid-length braid. Her left eye is green, while her right is brown. Is it possible she was targeted because she has Heterochromia? A brown contact was on her left eye, but her licence picture has her natural eyes. If she wanted to be known as a woman with same-coloured eyes, why didn’t she wear a contact when she took the picture? Not enough to go on, although Sherlock thinks it’s worthy enough to look into.  She is short, fairly muscular, and is dressed in shorts and a button-up shirt. Found around 5:00 a.m. in a parking lot. Sherlock suspects she was kidnapped based on several faded love bites on her neck and thighs—I’m not sure I agree by that logic, but it isn’t impossible._

Notes: Bandersnatch Humperdinck.

Joan sighed, and got up from her desk. She paced the room, and groaned. “There’s not enough on this case to be excited right now”, she said to herself, but it did not calm her nerves. “Sherlock, do you want to go out to eat?”

“Not hungry.”

“Do you want to watch _me_ eat, then?”

“No, I find that the least fascinating thing in the world, right below going to a restaurant when I have no intention to eat.” Sherlock noisily flipped her newspaper over. “If you will allow me to observe the people around our table, however, you may find me suddenly interested.”

“Fine, as long as you keep your voice down and don’t tell people when someone has been cheating on his wife.”

“Oh, please, have you still not forgotten that?”

“You told him to wear a condom next time!”

“It is not my fault he has a penis riddled with diseases”, Sherlock said lamely, waving her hand in the air.

“But it is your fault that his wife knows! That was not your secret to tell! You can’t just go around deciding that because everyone’s lying to everyone it’s suddenly your job to bring those lies to light!”

“If people don’t want to get caught lying, they shouldn’t lie.” Sherlock got up from her chair, and looked down at the disappointed Joan. “You’re dissatisfied with me. Does this change your decision to invite me to sit with you while you eat?”

The doctor sighed, and closed her eyes for a second. “No, you can still come. I just wish I could get you to understand half the shit I tell you.”

“I do. My own logic just conflicts with yours, that is all.” Sherlock smiled tightly, and put on her coat. “Angelo’s, I presume?”

“You bet.”


	2. Inordinance Raises Suspicion

Sherlock absently tapped her fingers on the bleach-white desk in front of her. She could _really_ use a cigarette right now. Instead, she slowly closed her eyes, and stayed sitting there for an immeasurable amount of time.

“Miss Holmes? The coroner’s ready for you.”

Sherlock gritted her teeth at being called “Miss Holmes”. She got up from the receptionist’s desk, and walked down the corridor. Joan wasn’t with her now, unfortunately. She was at work—even though Sherlock had offered to pay her for her services. But Joan refused, saying that she was Sherlock’s friend, and being paid to be her friend would make her feel like she was using her. It made no sense to Sherlock, but she allowed Joan to get her boring job.

When her train of thought crashed (there were no survivors), Sherlock opened the door to the mortuary, and walked in. A quick glance at the room told her only one person worked in this part of the building—and that the person was female. “Details”, she said firmly, taking off her coat and hanging it on the hook on the back of the door. She pulled out a notepad from her pocket, and approached the corpse.

“I—“The burgundy-coloured haired woman froze. “I’m sorry; you’re Miss Holmes, right? Pleased to meet you, I’m Molly Hooper.” She held out a gloved hand.

“Call me Sherlock, I hate the whole ‘Miss Holmes’ formality business.” Sherlock eyed the woman, and a short breath of air was let out of her nose, as if unimpressed. “Now, if we’re done with the chitchat, will you tell me what you’ve found in observing this Corrina Tennyson?”

“Oh, of course”, Molly smiled. She grabbed her clipboard from the edge of the table on which the victim’s corpse lay. “Cause of death is several wounds created by a serrated blade, approximately nine inches long. Several bruises on the wrists...there's what appears to be faded love bites on her neck and thighs, old enough to be presumed unrelated to her death. Bruises in the Sorghastrom Endometrium suggest she was raped.”

Sherlock frowned. “Molly, it’s called a vagina.”She sighed, and closed her notepad. “What’s your theory?”

“Well, the evidence suggests...”

“No, wrong, boring. Based on the evidence, what do you think happened? I want _your_ opinion, not facts that have already been said.”

The coroner paused. She brushed a lock of hair out of the corpse’s eyes, and concentrated. “The bloodwork shows she was under anaesthesia when she died. The cuts have not had nearly enough time to start to form scabs, so I would think that the cuts were made while she was asleep. So someone drugged her, forced themselves on her, and then cut her up? That doesn’t make sense. She would be lucky if the events that occurred even stayed in her subconscious, and yet someone killed her anyways. Why go through all the trouble?”

Sherlock smiled. “Now that’s what we need to find out.” She stood up straight, and pocketed her notepad. Without another word, she left, coat swaying in the nonexistent wind as she swung it over her shoulders.

And in that moment, Molly knew she was in love. She couldn’t even criticise herself for being so cliché, because the sight of Sherlock walking away was so enthralling.

The coroner is quite pleasing. –SH

Should I be worried that you’re going to replace me? –JW

Of course not, my dear Watson. No one could replace you. –SH

I would be flattered but you’re just going to say something totally unflattering right after I express my gratitude... –JW

However, many men would beg to differ. They find it quite easy to replace you with fifteen year old girls who stuff their sweaters to get more attention. –SH

Corrina Tennyson was under anaesthesia when she died. She was also raped. Kidnapping is becoming ever more likely. Still don’t see how the Heterochromia comes into the situation. At the very best, this appears to be a pretty girl in the wrong place at the wrong time. I need to go to Scotland Yard to see if any other murders are connected to this. Are you coming? –SH

I suppose I should, shouldn’t I? –JW

Don’t be insulted. I wasn’t saying it’s your fault men don’t find you appealing. Although being more feminine couldn’t hurt. –SH

Piss off, Sherlock. I’ll be there at seven. –JW

**Scotland Yard—9 PM**

Sherlock let out a yawn, and shook her head. “Ugh.” She clicked to the next page of the database, and rolled her eyes. “Bored.”

Joan sighed. “Do you want a coffee?”

“Black, two sugars please.” She yawned again, raising her hand to cover her mouth. She continued scrolling down the names, and found absolutely nothing of worth.

Sherlock leaned back in her chair when she saw a woman watching her. Her eyes were a combination of green and brown, a beautiful mixture. “You should have told Joan to get you a coffee as well. You certainly need it.”

“I’m good.” Even though the words were benign, it sounded almost threatening.

“Did I do something to insult you?” Sherlock asked, slightly amused.

“I’m just wondering what an amateur is doing here, looking through our files.”

Sherlock looked around. “I see only one amateur here, and she’s sitting right in front of me.”

“You think you’re funny, do you?”

“Occasionally”, she said matter-of-factly.

“Is that how you got to start walking around like you own the Yard? A funny girl makes a few quips and gets to walk around making insane assumptions at my crime scene?”

“Nothing I said was insane. Far from it, in fact.” Sherlock narrowed her eyes. “You heard me talking to Joan when I left.”

The woman got up. “I’m watching you, Sherlock Holmes. Tread carefully.”

Sherlock scoffed. “I’ll do that”, she said mockingly. “Go do your paperwork, Miss Sally Donovan.”

“How did you—“

“Name tag. Not everything has to be clever.”


	3. Ooooh Mistress Katerine!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mistress Katerine is inspired by the lovely lady who sang this: http://youtu.be/hU4eMj23Aa8  
> Beautiful, isn't she?

      Katerine Avgoustakis

Sherlock sat next to John on a sofa with a horrible flower design—something your great grandmother would own. She waited patiently for Miss Katerine to finish up with her “session”. It was clear to Sherlock that Katerine didn’t have any motive to kill Corrina, but this was for the sake of tying up all loose ends.

The sound of handcuffs being unlocked made it clear Katerine wouldn’t be engrossed for much longer. Soon enough, a woman came from the bedroom, trying her best not to smile in her post-coital ecstasy. A woman (Katerine) followed her to the door, dressed in black lacy lingerie.

Sherlock chuckled at John’s refusal to eye the woman’s body. She was quite fit, and it was obvious she worked out often. Katerine grinned, and turned back to the couple on her couch. “So, how can I help you today?”

“I’m afraid we’re not here for your services today, Mistress Katerine.”

A fire sparked in the domme’s eyes. “That’s too bad. I get the feeling you’d be a _very_ good pet.” She moved to stand above Sherlock, her chest displayed prominently on purpose. A hand reached down to trace the length of the detective’s jaw line.

John looked between the two of them and bit her lip to prevent an outburst. She looked down at her fidgeting hands.

“So, what are you here for?” Miss Katerine asked, bending down so their faces were barely an inch apart.

“I’m here about one of your _pets._ She was found in the parking lot of a convenience store on Stamford St. I’m hoping you wouldn’t know anything about that.”

The domme stood up straight, and sighed. She went over to her recliner and collapsed into it without a care. “Is she—“

“She is dead, yes.”

“Am I a suspect?”

“Traces of your skin were found under her fingernails, but you are not the only one.”

A betrayed look suggested that Katerine didn’t know that Miss Tennyson had multiple partners. “Do you need an alibi?” she asked, her voice cracking.

Sherlock smiled softly. This woman was paid to be cruel and passionate, but she did care about her charges. Such a thing warmed the heart, something Sherlock would usually avoid feeling, but she couldn’t avoid it this time. “No, Mistress Katerine. My condolences.”

She stood up, and John followed her to the door. “That was...”

“Unlike myself? No need to tell me that me being compassionate isn’t something you normally see. Believe me, _I know._ ”

**211b Baker St—5 PM**

Case notes:

Title: N/A

Victim: _The victim is a female aged thirty-six years old, named Corrina Tennyson. She has an olive complexion, curly black hair in a mid-length braid. Her left eye is green, while her right is brown. Is it possible she was targeted because she has Heterochromia? A brown contact was on her left eye, but her licence picture has her natural eyes. She is short, fairly muscular, and is dressed in shorts and a button-up shirt. Found around 5:00 a.m. in a parking lot._

Suspected Method: _Evidence suggests that Corrina Tennyson was under anaesthesia when she was raped and stabbed. Motive unknown._

Questions: _Why kill her if she was unconscious at the time of the offenses? The murder could have been a statement; but what is the message?_

Notes: _Beetlejuice Cumbersnatch_

John sighed. All of the suspects came up empty; they were all shocked to hear of her death _and_ they had alibis. And on top of that, they didn’t know that she had multiple lovers. So it was a dead end wrapped in a dead end boxed in a dead end and shipped to Dead End, Nowhere.

She got up, and walked to the living room to find Sherlock lying on the sofa, doing her hand-steeple thing that she always did when she was trying to figure something out. Glad she wasn’t the only one puzzled.

Suddenly, Sherlock shot up, and walked across the coffee table (such disrespect for furniture). She slid out of her silky blue robe and John averted her eyes from the woman’s arse as she continued to her room.

She huffed and walked to the kitchen. As Sherlock passed her, she didn’t bother asking where she was going, as she would get no response.

**Edwards 41 Theatre—7 PM**

Sherlock flicked the ash of another fag down the open manhole beside her. She sucked another death-filled breath from the fag, and blew out smoke in large O’s for her own amusement. Then, without another care, she threw the cigarette down the manhole.

A sudden noise caught her attention. It sounded like metal clanging on brick. Sherlock stood above the manhole, trying to get a look, when she saw it: an oil drum. She frowned, and put on her gloves. She made away with her coat and scarf before she slowly lowered herself into the sewage passageway.

Sherlock approached the oil drum with caution, the sound of her footsteps hidden by the echo of water trickling out of a pipe at the end of the passageway. She took out her penknife, and shoved it up under the lid, wiggling it a bit before prying it off. A rancid smell overcame her nostrils, making her cringe. It was the odour of sulphuric acid.

Sherlock picked up a stick, and began running it through the acid, trying to see if anything was in it. And indeed there was; a human femur surfaced with little search. She gagged, and threw the stick down with such force that it splashed in the water.

Sherlock quickly re-sealed the oil drum, and lifted herself out of the manhole. She dressed herself back into her coat and scarf before she headed back to 221b.


End file.
